Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/268

268  —"Think'st thou I wander'd from my Scythian home For glittering dust, or polish'd stones to roam? I sought the gem of wisdom where it shines, With gather'd brightness in the Grecian mines. Happy, might I such sacred prize attain, And reach in peace my lowly roof again, And yet preserve in purity refin'd The chrystal treasure of a virtuous mind."

 

is the season, God of Grace, When man's full heart doth turn to Thee, For now his eye can clearest trace Thy hand on vale and field and tree.

With hope he casts to earth the grain, When spring awakes the snow-drop cold, With joy beholds bright Summer's rain And genial sun the germ unfold;

Yet fear will oft his breast pervade Even while he views the fertile soil Lest storms destroy the tender blade And crush the promise of his toil:

But when blest Autumn's care displays His garners with their stores replete, Then hope is lost in strains of praise, And fear in gratulations sweet. 